The storyteller smiled to himself. From high to low everyone in Sanctuarybehaved the same-even the birds.
A flicker of white on the roof across from the window caught Hakiem's eye. Onebeyari was perched beside a black bird half-again its size. There was anoccasional flutter of wings and much head-bobbing, but neither bird was givingground. The storyteller was no regular bird-watcher; it seemed unlikely that thetwo could mate-but they certainly weren't fighting. Perhaps-
"Hakiem!"
He jerked his attention back to the court, discovering that the business hadbeen concluded and the parties dismissed. Shupansea, Beysa of the Beysib Empire,had risen onto one elbow from the supine position in which she traditionallyconducted state affairs and was staring at him with her large, amber, andinhumanly unblinking eyes. She was young, not past her mid-twenties, slender,and fair-skinned with thigh-length blonde hair that cascaded onto the pillows ina way that only the finest of silks could hope to imitate. Her breasts werebare, in the Beysib tradition, and so firm with youth that even when she movedthe dark, tattooed nipples regarded him as steadily as her eyes.
Of course, Hakiem was himself sufficiently advanced in age that such a sightleft him unmoved-almost.
"Yes, 0 Empress?"
He gave a slight bow, cutting his thoughts, and his glance, short before eitherprogressed too far. As a street storyteller he had always been polite to thosewho gave him a few coppers in return for his entertainments. Now, with the heftystipend he was receiving in gold, he was a paradigm of courtesy. .